2419 

to  2  3 


A DUSKY  IDYL 


LAISDEU 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


/NIRAM 


On  the  wide  veranda. 
Page  II. 


\t, :, 

•J"^ 


DUSKY  IDYL 

LAISDELL  MITCHELL 

AUTHOR  OF  TONY. 

PHILADELPHIA 

CHARLES  H.  BANES 

1420  Chestnut  Street 
i895 


LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright  1895  by  the 
AMERICAN  BAPTIST  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY 


CO/NTE/NTS 


i 

<A  Southern    ylome,  J 

ii 

•A  JMelodious  J\|igk  23 


111 

41 


IV 

Tlero, 

7 


I 

A  Southern  Home 


"Softly  tlie  evening  came.     TJie  sun  from  the  western 

horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o"  er  tJie 

landscape  ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose,  and  sky,  and  water,  and 

forest, 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,   and  melted  and 

mingled  together." 

Long fr  How. 


*    %  "  I  w  I  1Llf    ai'r    v^as    clear    and    soft, 

,  « .       *k  » 

and     the     ^  loW,     crooning      melody    of    a 


dusky  mother'*!    penetrated     the    sunset    splendor. 
I  he   fading   day   had    been   one   of    nature's   choic 
est,    and    it    Was    a    joy    to    rest,    With    absolutely 
nothing  to  do,  on   the  Wide  Veranda  of  this   (5)outh- 
ern    home. 

AS    far    as     eye    could     reach 
stretched   the  estate.          |  o   the 
%        left,  standing    in   stately  guard, 
•*.  Were  the  tall,  sWeet-scented 


ii 


12  NT  RAM 

plorida  pines,  With  their  crests  sWaying  majestically 
in  the  light  evening  breeze.  \n  the  distance  could 
be  seen,  like  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  the  glimmer  of 
the  laqoon  as  the  sun  tenderly  kissed  the  Water 

<J  e/ 

good-night.  1  o  my  right,  as  |  idly  enjoyed  my 
pipe  in  a  cosy  corner,  Were  the  cabins  of  the 
colored  people.  JV|cmy  of  these  had  been  ruined 
"when  the  J\orth  and  the  e)outh  had  parted," 
but  Were  now  completely  rebuilt  and  made  pleas 
antly  habitable  by  the  general,  who  insisted  that 
the  people  Would  give  better  Work  when  Well 
housed  and  fed. 

I  he  general  had  purchased  the  Island  some 
time  during  the  early  eighties,  when  it  Was  in  a 
most  forlorn  and  unpromising  condition;  since  then 
he  had  spared  neither  pains,  thought,  nor  money 
to  render  it  a  model  plantation  in  eVery  respect. 


NIRAM  13 

Tjis  efforts  on  their  behalf,  as  Well  as  in  the 
improvement  of  the  property,  Were  most  thor 
oughly  appreciated  by  the  blacks,  who  thought 
no  Work  or  trouble  too  great  to  take  for  " de 
qen'al." 

d 

I  he  house  too  had  undergone  repairs,  and 
Was  now  restored  to  its  former  attractiveness  as 
an  old-fashioned  manor  of  the  true,  rambling, 
erratic,  Southern  style.  |t  bore  distinct  traces 
of  the  Varying  taste  of  the  many  generations 
which  had  added  to  and  enlarged  the  original 
structure.  QfCich  one  of  the  rooms  Was  large, 
bright,  and  cheery.  J\|o  modern  dust-distribut 
ing  furnace  openings  disfigured  the  Walls,  but 
hospitable  grate  fires  bade  the  guest  a  pleasant 
Welcome  and  gaVe  additional  charm  to  the  sur 
rounding  cjuaintness.  <All  the  furniture,  which 


i4  NIRAM 

Was  solid,  generous,  and  stable,  had  been  re- 
polished  and  Was  again  in  use.  |  he  hard-Wood 
floors  Were  covered  With  treasured  rugs,  fairly 
hoary  With  beauty-increasing  age. 

'Almost  every  one  of  the  oldest  rooms  pos 
sessed  a  secret  panel,  oddly  carVed,  as  Were 
indeed,  all  the  others,  and  many  Were  their  con 
jectured  usages.  [n  some  of  these  hiding-places 
had  been  stored  the  rugs;  in  others  Were  found 
quaint,  old-time  silver,  blackened  With  age;  in  one 
or  two  some  old  family  portraits  had  been  dis 
covered,  bearing  the  name  of  yiolbein  or  Van 
||)yck,  and  in  the  darkest  part  of  another  recess, 
Was  found,  in  an  old  cedar  chest,  a  complete 
dinner  set  of  almost  priceless  "grape"  porcelain. 

)n  one,  which  Was  indeed,  hardly  more  than 
a  bo*,  beinq  but  fourteen  inches  square,  Was  an 

e) 


NIRAM  15 

old  letter,  falling  apart  from  the  Very  Weight  of 
its  oWn  yellowness,  bearing  the  misty  date  of 
"1724,"  which  had  been  discovered  and  deciphered 
but  a  feW  days  before  my  arrival.  J\ear  it  Was 
lying  a  ring  holding  a  rare  jeWel  set  in  the  dull 
gold.  Within  could  be  read  the  faint  shadows 
of  the  Words  "<Amor  omnia  Vincit."  But  the 
little  ring  Was  silent,  and  sacredly  treasured  its 
life-story,  made  sWeeter  by  the  memory  of  the 
loVe  of  long  ago. 

Jiere  and  there  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
first  settlers  told  their  story  of  a  braVe  and  de 
termined  ancestry.  [n  a  feW  places  Was  carVed 
the  crest, — two  displayed  Wings,  each  bearing  a 
corrugated  sickle, — and  in  dim,  old-time  lettering 
could  be  read  the  suggestive  motto,  "  [ch  Woll." 

•Altogether  it  Was    an    ideal    retreat    from    the 


1 6  NIRAM 

busy  life  of  the  World  in  which  to  restfully  while 
aWay  the  hours  as  they  Vanished  in  the  eVer-floWing 
glass,  and  to  Watch  the  sun  radiantly  disappear 
Without  taking  any  "thought  for  the  morrow." 

J\lot  the  least  attraction  Was  the  pastoral 
simplicity  of  the  life.  peW  class  distinctions 
annoyed  the  help,  but  the  blacks  enjoyed  many 
unaccustomed  privileges,  and  in  their  turn  readily 
responded  to  any  Wish  of  the  general.  c^ach 
family  had  its  oWn  cabin,  and  Was  as  Well  taken 
care  of  as  had  been  the  more  fortunate  slaves 
before  the  War,  and  yet  reVeled  in  the  freedom 
bequeathed  to  them  in  the  immortal  sitfty-three. 
When  the  toil  for  the  day  Was  oVer,  and  the 
evening  repast  enjoyed,  in  front  of  many  cabins 
Would  be  gathered  little  groups,  while  the  air 
Would  be  filled  With  the  half-monotonous  melodies 


NIRAM  17 

in  which  the  heart  of  the  J\egro  so  delights. 
1  he  banjo  and  the  "hoe-doWn"  played  no  un 
important  part,  for  the  happy,  shallow  J\|egro 
nature  thought  of  little  except  to  extract  the  most 
from  the  present. 

|n  the  cabin  nearest  the  manor,  behind  a 
Wide-spreading  magnolia  tree,  lived  two  old  blacks 
With  their  grandson,  5Ad'niram  Uu'son.  \  hey 
had  been  carried  into  slavery  from  the  happy 
freedom  of  ^Africa,  and  still  bore  the  numerical 
names  bestoWed  upon  them  as  they  had  been 
marched  from  the  hold  of  the  slaVe-ship.  JVlany 
Were  the  tales  of  horror  they  could  relate  of 
that  neVer-to-be-forgotten  journey,  but  which  they 
determinedly  kept  from  others,  for  the  recital  could 
be  of  no  use  and  Would  only  harrow  feelings  to 
no  purpose. 


1 8  NIRAM 

u^e^tus"  ne\?er  could  forget  that  "tejb'  de 
Wah,  sab,"  he  had  been  "JMassa's  conf'dential 
man,  sah/'  nor  did  he  hesitate  to  regale  the 
general  With  bits  of  his  oWn  Wisdom,  "in  season 
and  out  of  season."  pis  nearly  eVery  remark 
Was  prefaced  by  the  only  quotation  he  had  eVer 
learned,  but  the  source  of  which  |  Was  neVer 
able  to  ascertain7  "  I  imes  an'  tides  Waits  fo'  no 
man,  sah." 

"Isrjma,"  his  Wife,  Was  in  delighted  charge 
of  the  culinary  department.  Tier  skill  Was  neVer 
doubted,  either  in  cooking  or  singing,  and  in  the 
former  had  indeed  passed  almost  into  a  proVerb 
among  the  younger  black  Women,  who  aspired  to 
nothing  better  than  to  cook  like  f\unt  [srima. 

1  he  grandson  Was  a  child  of  much  loVe  and 
sorrow.  pis  mother's  life  had  been  the  guerdon 


NIRAM  19 

for  his;  and  ere  two  moons  had  passed  oVer  the 
little  J\|egro,  his  father,  one  of  the  bright,  stalwart, 
skilled  overseers,  succumbed  to  cramps  in  the  glit 
tering,  shimmering  bay,  and  the  babe  neither 
knew  nor  realized  its  loss. 

J\|iram  Was  an  individual  lad;  gentle,  braVe, 
patient,  and  always  cheerful,  he  Was  a  great 
favorite  With  his  people,  who  are  distinctively 
creatures  of  sunshine.  <At  the  age  of  five,  when 
alive  With  the  strength  of  childhood,  an  injury  to 
that  most  Wonderful  of  possessions,  the  spinal 
column,  had  prevented  him  from  Walking.  The 
available  local  skill  had  done  nothing  for  him,  and 
thus  the  years  had  been  passed  in  helplessness. 
But  in  spite  of  his  sufferings  he  Was  the  light  and 
sunshine  of  not  only  his  oWn  home,  but  of  many 
near  it,  With  a  determination  far  beyond  his 


20  NIRAM 


station  and  years,  he  seldom  permitted  himself  to 
express  his  pain  in  the  presence  of  others,  and  not 
eVen  his  grandmother,  who  loVed  him  so,  appreci 
ated  the  extent  of  his  suffering  and  consequent 
braVery.  jiis  eyes  Were  soft  and  lustrous  and 
black ;  the  features  Were  molded  after  the  (Cau 
casian,  and  possessed  a  contour  of  refinement  which 
Was  in  strange  incongruity  With  his  humble  sur 
roundings.  Tie  had  a  receptive  intellect,  and 
JVliss  [Dorothy,  the  general's  youngest  daughter, 
discovering  this;  as  Well  as  his  intense  desire  to 
learn,  had  been  spending  some  of  her  unoccupied 
time,  since  her  return  from  college,  teaching  him, 
that  the  time  might  not  pass  quite  so  slowly. 
Hie  intuitively  understood  and  appreciated  her  in 
tention,  and  With  all  the  energy  of  his  years  applied 
himself  to  his  studies  With  flattering  progress. 


NIRAM 


21 


|n    the    evening    the  Weird,    lingering    melodies 


Would 


en- 


thelis- 


Were 
trill  of 


With  the 
charm 

of     another 
•  clime.    But 
from     no 
direction 
Would  come 
such  sounds  as  from 
the    home    of   co)e>?tus ;      for 
there,   when    the   anqel    lamps 

V  I 

twinkling    into    sight,    and    the 
the   nightingale    lent   its  charm    to 


22  NIRAM 

the  half  silence,  Isrima,  With  her  little  lad  in  her 
capacious  arms,  Would  sit  and  sing,  With  all  the 
ferVor  of  her  great  mother-loVe,  and  the  abandon 
of  the  true  J\|egro  to  the  seductiveness  of  sound. 
Tier  song  could  easily  be  heard  on  the  Veranda, 
and  the  Voices  of  the  other  singers  made  a  pleas 
ant  accompaniment.  <7\boVe  all  things  else  she 
loVed  the  Weird,  minor  strains,  and  often  Would 
she  be  joined  in  her  singing  by  J\|iram,  whose 
Voice  Was  a  sWeet,  clear  contralto.  Seldom  could 
he  be  persuaded  to  sing  alone,  but  nevertheless, 
he  possessed,  locked  safely  in  its  ebony  casket, 
that  rare  treasure — the  poWer  of  intelligent, 
sympathetic  singing.  |n  him  Was  combined  in 
a  truly  Wonderful  manner  the  crooning,  rhythmic 
poWer  of  his  people,  and  the  pure,  accurate, 
pleasure-giving  tones  of  the  whites. 


II 
A  Melodious  Might 


"  Sweetest  melodies 

Are  those  tJiat  are   by  distance  made  more  sweet" 

Wordsworth. 


_  ^2^ 

Or  had  just  come  to 
the  Veranda  after 
supper,  and  could  distinctly 
hear  the  clear  Voice  of  Isrima 
as  she  sang  to  her  loVed  one. 
[n  the  feW  days  already 
passed  |  had  become  strange 
ly  interested  in  her  boy,  and 
/  had  made  quite  an  effort  to  learn 
concerning  him  and  his  injury  that 
possioie.  I  instinctively  felt,  Without  any 
ground  for  belief  that  in  some  Way  1  should  be 
permitted  to  relieve  him.  JV|y  life  for  many 
years  had  been  spent  among  children,  in  the  en- 

deaVor  to    alleviate   their  sufferings,    and    I    desired 

25 


Was    possible. 


26  NIRAM 

to  test  my  alleged  skill  on  J\|iram.  JV]y  oWn 
boy  I  ony,  who  had  whistled  himself  into  my 
heart,  Was  then  at  school,  and  |  Was  With  the 
general  in  response  to  a  most  urgent  invitation 
to  come  doWn  for  a  fortnight's  shooting,  in 
which  the  Island  abounded. 

I  he  air,  |  remember,  Was  Very  still  that 
evening,  sWeet  and  fragrantly  transparent,  and 
the  general,  With  the  pa|"ty  of  merry  young 
people,  had  gathered  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  and  comparatively  speaking,  I  Was  alone, 
With  my  pipe  and  thoughts  of  the  little  black, 
the  protege  of  JVjiss  l)orothy — than  whom  a 
sWeeter  girl  neVer  lived. 

While    thus    musinq     [    Was    suddenly   recalled 

QJ  e/ 

to  my  immediate  surroundings  by  hearing,  rising 
round  and  full,  in  strong,  rich  cadenzas,  aboVe 


NT  RAM  27 

the  low  monotone  of  the  blacks'  singing,  in  a  Voice 
of  rare  sweetness  and  poWer,  but  untrained,  the 
Words : 


''Way  doWn   upon   de   e)uWannee   Ribber, 

par,    fa r,    ' Way, 

l$)ere's  whar  my   heart  am   turnin'    eber, 
Dene's  whar  de  ole  folks  stay. 

"'All   up  an'    doWn   de  whole  creation. 

@)adly   I    roam, 

e)till   longin'   fur  de  old   plantation, 
<An'   fur  de   ole  folks  at  home. 

U(AH   de   Worl'    am   sad   an'    dreary, 

Qfb'ryWnar   |    roam, 

©h,    darkies,    how   my   heart  groWs  Weary, 
par  f'om   de   ole   folks   at   home." 


28  NIRAM 

I  bent  forward  to  listen  closely.  <As  I  did 
not  at  once  recognize  the  Voice  |  concluded  that  it 
must  be  some  Visitor  at  one  of  the  cabins.  <|)ust 
whence  the  sound  came  1  could  not  immediately 
determine,  and  while  Wondering,  like  the  bubbling 
of  happy  Waters  came  the  rollicking  sounds  of — 

"  I   hab  a  yarn    |   Wants  ter  tell, 

<Amo,    emo,    imo,    We, 
'Bout  de   boy  dat  rang   de   bell, 

<Amo,    emo,    imo,    We. 
pe   rang   de   bell  Wid   all   his   might, 

<An'    den   he  Vanished   out  ob  sight! 

f) 
We   heerd   him   a   singin' 

<As   he  Went  frough   de  air — 
<7\mo,    emo,    imo,    We, 
IDis  's  de   las'  you'll  see  ob   me.'* 


decided  to  slip  aWay  softly, 
and  putting  up  my  meerschaum, 
/l'\  i  ^  fearing    the    light   Would    betray 

my  approach,  I  sauntered  quietly  into 
the  dusk,  seeking  the  shelter  of  the  magnolia 
row,  as  it  led  toward  the  cabins. 

1  he  night,  as  [  Well  remember,  Was  truly  one 
of  surpassing  beauty.  |juna  rode  in  majestic 
loveliness  across  the  sapphire  Vault  aboVe,  and  in 
her  train,  like  courtiers  to  a  queen,  Were  myriads 
of  sparkling  satellites.  E\?en  as  I  looked  a 

meteor  fell   athwart    the   beauty,    and   the  supersti- 

29 


3o  NIRAM 

tion  of  the  blacks  recurred  to  me,  as  almost 
unconsciously,  I  murmured,  "(yod  pity  him." 
por  you  must  knoW7  that  at  sight  of  a  falling 
star  they  most  firmly  believe  some  soul  is  Winging 
its  Way  into  the  unknown — not  the  bright,  glori 
ous  "Hereafter,  but  the  dark,  tortuous  paths  of 
the  Blackness,  and  they  say,  or  think,  u  (&od 
pity  him." 

"  ll)e   moon   am    brightly  shinin', 

ll)e   stars  am    in   de   sky; 
l)e   mawkin'-bird   am   singin' 

ll)e   'gator  am    bery   nigh. 
Re,    ro,    ri,    rum,   fol   de   rol ; 

1  ra    la    la,    tra    la    lol ; 
Re,    ro,    ri,    rum,    fol   de   rol, 
|  ra    la    la,    tra    la   lol." 


NIRAM  31 

I  he  chorus  suddenly  ceased,  for  many  lips 
Were,  |  knew,  saying  the  little  prayer  for  the 
departing  one,  whose  path  Was  thus  marked  as 
We  gazed.  In  the  stillness  of  the  night,  from 
among  the  pines  whose  fragrance  scented  the 
air,  rose  the  song  of  the  nightingale.  «And  who, 
having  heard,  has  not  stood  entranced  when 
listening  to  the  melody  poured  so  lavishly  forth 
from  this  least  attractive  of  nature's  songsters. 
J\owhere  is  sweetness  so  Vocal,  or  melody  so 
bewitching,  as  in  the  early  evening  of  the  tropics, 
when  the  Very  earth-sounds  are  hushed  in  etf- 
pectancy  of  this  solo,  and  the  air  is  heaVy  With 
the  perfume  of  the  foliage.  Tlere,  indeed,  man 
believes  he  must  be  nearer  (yod  than  he  eVer  can 
be  in  the  still,  cold,  une^pressiVe  J\|orth — where 
nature  shoWs  her  charms  but  for  a  short  season, 


32  NT  RAM 

reserVinq  her  rarest  jewels  to  be  displayed  in  the 
heart  of  the  always-summer-land,  where,  if  any 
where  in  the  World,  the  "  pountain  of  external 
Youth"  ought  surely  to  be  found. 

<A  moment  after  the  roundelay  Was   completed 
from   the  dimness    near  me    came  the   old   favorite 
of    J\|ecjro  and   White  alike: 

"I'm   dreamin'    now  ob   *pallfe; 

Sweet    Tjallie,    sWeet    pallie, 
I'm   dreamin'    noW  ob    Jidllie, 

pur  de   thought  ob   her  am   one 

dat  neber  dies. 
She's  sleepin'    in   de  Valley, 
De  Valley,  de  Valley, 
<An'  de  mawkin'-bird  am  singin' 

whar  she  lies. 


NIRAM  33 

"  Lfisten  ter  de  mawkin'-bird, 
Lfisten  ter  de  mawkin'-bird, 
De  mawkin'-bird  still  singin'  o'er 

her  grabe. 

Lfisten  ter  de  mawkin'-bird, 
Lfisten  ter  de  mawkin'-bird, 
o)t\\\  singin'  whar  de  Weepin' 

WilloWs  Wabe." 

"Hardly  had  the  last  clear  note  died  aWay  ere 
the  deep  tones  of  §e)2tus5  \?oice  Were  heard  in 
admonition  : 

"  '  1  imes  an'  tides  Wait  fur  no  man/ 
JNiram  — 

CJnheeding,  and  interrupting  this  prelude  to 
an  utterance  of  Wisdom,  the  sprightly  Voice  con 
tinued  : 


34  NIRAM 

"  l)e  'gator  calls  me  ober  in  de  'goon; 
1  sees  his  eyes  by  de  light  ob  de  moon. 

I  quess  he's  hollow  an'  Wants  his  dinner — 
<j 

||)ut  he  don'  get  a  bit  ob  dis  yere  sinner! 

p      I'         11     •  i  .          " 
pur  |  se  all  right 

"eNiram,    my  lad,    |   really  t'inks  dat— 


'"I'm  de  happy,  happy  daddy  ob  a  coon: 
Eyes  like  diamonds,  teeth  like  pearls, 
<An'  dose  little,  dinky  curls. 
Lfittle  han's  an'  little  feet, 
©h,   1  tells  you  my  darlin's  sWeet! 
I'm  de  happy,  happy  daddy  ob  a  coon!  " 

cl)e>?tus  laughed.  Tie  could  not  help  it,  and 
his  mirth  Was  contagious.  poWe^er,  he  once 
more  began  on  the  interrupted  sentence: 


NIRAM  35 

1  YOU  had  jes'  better  go  ter  sleep,  fur— 

"My  lub's  brack  ez  she  kin  be, 
An'  she  t'inks  a  heap  ob  me. 
ll)ancin'  eyes  an'  corkscrew  curls, 
JV|ake  her  jes'  de  bes'  ob  gurls! 

Oh,   [jizbeth  Ann,   |  lubsyou! 

©h,   Lfizbeth  Ann,   |  (ubsyou! 

(f)et  de  day  an'   I'll  be  dar, 

pup,   [j-izbeth  Ann,   |  lubsyou!" 

JVlany  of  eNiram's  ditties,  of  which  he  pos 
sessed  a  Well-nigh  inexhaustible  supply,  Were,  as  I 
afterward  learned,  peculiar  to  the  J\|ecjroes  of  the 
Island.  J\owhere  else  through  the  Southland 
haVe  |  eVer  heard  them  sung.  estrange  Qs  they 
Were  at  first,  frequent  repetition  soon  familiarized 
me  With  them.  And,  eVen  now,  by  closing  eyes 


36  NIRAM 

and  ears  to  the  surrounding  influences,  I  can  easily 
imagine  myself  back  among  the  melodies  and 
aromas  of  the  Island. 

The  old  man  Was  almost  Worsted,  but  per 
tinaciously  determined  to  complete  his  sentence, 
like  the  famous  perr  JMeyer.  The  intervals  of 
song  had  no  apparent  effect  upon  its  original 
structure,  for  he  proceeded,  unmoVed: 

"  —  -  1  don't  Wants  you  ter  sing  any  mo' 
ter-night." 

Softly,  sWeetly,  like  a  passing  breath,  came 
the  Words,  qaininq  Gradually  in  Volume  as  the 

'        d)  o)         <•)  eJ 

melody    rolled    on : 

"  I'm  trabelin'  bac'  ter  Di*ie, 

JV|y  step  am  slow  an'  feeble; 
I  prays  de  |_for   ter  help  me, 
<An'  keep  me  f'om  all  ebil. 


NIRAM  37 

<An'  should  my  strength  forsake  me, 
Den  kin'  friends  cum  an'  tak'  me, 
JMy  heart's  turned  bac'  ter  [Dixie, 
<An*   [  mus'  go. 

"  I' se  gWine  bac'  ter  IDbtie, 

['se  gWine  bac'  ter  llfeie, 

I  se  gWine  whar  de  orange  blossoms  grow, 
pur  I  hears  de  chillen  calling 
1  see  de  sad  tears  fallin', 

<JV[y  heart's  turned  bac'  ter  IDiXie, 

A    '   I          '        " 
f\n    1  mus    go. 

por  a  moment  old  e)e^tus  Was  silenced,  for 
this  Was  his  acknowledged  favorite.  But  his 
loVe  Was  strong  in  his  determination  to  do  what 
he  considered  Was  best  for  his  boy. 


38  NIRAM 

"What's  de  matta  Wid  you,  J\|iram,  dis 
night?  lljon'  you  know  you  mus'n't  sing  so 
much.  What  Would  JMassa  DOC  say  if  he 
done  heard  you  singin'  noW,  when  you  Wouldn't 

sinq   fur   him   de   t'other  day?" 

<j    '  <j 

"0h,  gran'pap,  jus'  one  mo'  song,  'fo'  |  goes 
ter  bed.  It's  de  only  time  [  kin  sing,  when 
nobody  knoWs  who  |  is.  <Uus'  one,  gran'pap, 
please." 

o5e>?tus  Was  no  more  proof  against  the  Wiles 
of  the  one  he  lo\?ed  than  are  others,  and  With 
a  half-grunt,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Well,  ef  you 
Will  hex?  your  Way,  heV  it!  "  he  returned  to  the 
solace  of  his  corn-cob  and  patiently  Waited  the 
boy's  Will. 

I  hen    rose   the   minor  tones,  full  of   sweetness 
and   With   the   echo   of    tears   in   them : 


NIRAM  39 

"©h,  de  days  am  long  an'  dreary, 
JViy  life  am  sad  an'  Weary, 
I'm  Waitin'  fur  de   JMassa 

1  er  cum  fur  me. 
pe'll  tak'  me  home  ter  glory, 

f  ah,  de  JMassa   Will  ! 
jle'll  tak'  me  home  ter  glory, 
cip  de  golden  hill  !  " 

<A  silence  followed  the  singing,  unbroken  for 
a  few  moments  until  the  glorious,  inimitable  trill 
of  the  nightingale  soared  aloft  from  among  the 
pines. 

"J\|oW,  gran'pap,  |'se  ready.  1  ake  me  in, 
please,"  came  the  Words  from  jNiram,  and  the 
Voice  Was  tired  and  lifeless,  while  1  thought  1 
detected  pain  in  the  tones.  1  hen  1  knew  why 


40  NIRAM 

he  had  sung  so  much  —  he  Was  fighting  !  <^\nd 
he  Was  Victorious,  but  at  the  expense  of  nearly 
all  his  reserve  strength.  JMy  heart  Warmed 
toward  the  little  blacl^  lad  for  his  braVery,  and 
after  all,  the  color  of  the  skin  makes  no  differ 
ence  in  blood  or  feelings,  and  JNjiram  Was  a 
hero,  in  that  he  conquered  an  intangible  but 
a II -powerful  foe. 


Ill 
Mram 


" .    .    ,    From  a  humble  cottage  a  hero  often  springs' 

Latin  Proverb. 


mornincj,  after 
the    "Eloise" 
had    departed    With 
her  merry  freight,  | 

*. ,    . 

*f\     sauntered       toward      the     cabin. 
oDeXtus    had   gone  With   the  general 
'   one    or    two    of    the    men    to    hunt 
in    the  lagoon,   which   contained  a  full 
eVery    size,     color,     and     temper,     and 
proved   a   neVer-failing  source  of  interest.        Isrima, 

as    1    knew,   Was    in    the    manor,   concocting    many 

43 


an 


gators 
supply  of 


44  NIRAM 

and  luscious  dainties  for  the  eager  palates  on 
their  return  in  the  evening.  eNiram,  then,  Would 
be  all  alone,  and  We  could  haVe  a  pleasant  little 
time  together.  <And  so  I  thought  it  a  good 
time  to  see  him  and  perhaps  find  out  if  1  could 
help  him. 

(grossing  the  threshold  I  saw  him  lying  on 
the  improvised  easy-chair,  With  his  back  toward 
the  door,  reading  a  recently  acquired  copy  of 
"Zig-zag  Sourneys."  Every  now  and  then  a 
smile,  half-sad,  and  yet  not  at  all  dissatisfied,  crept 
oVer  his  face.  "pe  had  not  heard  my  entrance, 
and  for  a  moment  or  two  I  silently  Watched  his 
reflection  in  the  small  mirror.  ^Apparently  having 
finished  a  chapter,  he  closed  the  book,  With  a 
little  sigh,  and  began  singing,  in  a  sWeet,  plaintive 
undertone : 


He  closed  the  book     .     .     .     and   began  to  sing." 
Page  44. 


NIRAM  47 

"Den,  oh,  i  se  er-comin' !    I  kin  heardeWatah  flow — 

I'se  er-comin'  dough  |'se  ole  an'  lame  an'  po'; 

Pur   dere's    nuffm'   lack   de  joy,    lack   de   sorrer, 

dat  [   knoW, 
In  de  cabin  by  de  Jvlassysippi  sho'.  " 

Intuitively  feeling  that  the  lad  Was  blue  1  re- 
solved  to  interrupt  his  train  of  sad  thoughts, 
(jluietly  slipping  outside  |  began  to  whistle  the 
first  old  college  song  that  came  to  my  memory, 
Walking  briskly  into  the  room  a  moment  later. 
1  he  effect  Was  eVen  as  |  had  hoped,  and  the 
little,  black  face  brightened  Visibly,  while  the  Voice, 
speaking  Very  slow  in  the  effort  to  be  correct,  said: 

a©h,  doctor,  hoW  glad  I  is  that  you  haVe 
come.  I  Was  a-gettin'  Very  lonesome." 

11  What  haVe  you   been   reading,    JNjiram?" 


48  NIRAM 

"©ne  of  the  'Ziq-zaq'  books.       JVliss  Dor' thy 

oJ  oJ  v 

loaned  it  to  me  t'other  day.  I  like  them  all 
pretty  Well,  an'  the  people  too,  'specially  Tom. 
Don't  you,  doctor?" 

The  effect  of  JVliss  Dorothy's  patient  teach 
ing  Was  plainly  Visible  in  the  lad's  endeavor  to 
aVoid  the  patois  of  his  people,  hoWeVer  much  he 
might  speak  like  them  when  among  them. 

"Yes,  I  do.  Tony  has  been  reading  them 
aloud  during  his  last  Visit  home  and  insists  that 
some  day,  when  he  is  through  school,  We  two 
shall  travel  everywhere,  just  as  they  did." 

"  poW  scrumptious!  But  he  kin  go  whar 
he  pleases  now!  It  mus'  be  awful  nice  to  Walk 
an'  run  like  the  other  boys  do,"  and  a  quickly 
suppressed  sigh  parted  his  lips. 

the    Way,    J\|iram,    did    I    eVer    tell    you 


NIRAM  49 

what    I  ony  says   they  sometimes   have  for  breakfast 
at  school?" 

o,    sah." 

Ven   and   earth   and   shoe-blacking!'1 
I  he    large    eyes    fairly    stretched    their    amaze 
ment  as   the   lad   gasped  : 

it     R\         J.  9    " 

lljat  so  ( 

'  Yes.         I  hose  are  the  boys'  names  for  apples, 
fried    potatoes,    and   coffee." 

"Well,    I    rather   guess    they   nebber   had    none 
o'  (^randmam  Rrima's  cookin' — did  they,  doctor?" 
aj\|o,  indeed,  or  they  Would  neVer  ha\?e  thought 
of   such    names." 

"(yrandmam  says  she's  gWine  to  have  ^heavenly 
hash'    fur   lunch   to-day." 

It  Was   my  turn   to   be   nonplussed. 
1  TjeaVenly   hash?' 


50  NIRAM 

"Yes,     sah,"     and     J\|iram     laughed     heartily. 
"I   Won't    tell  you   what    it    are,    but  you    Will   fin 
out  after  a   while." 

aj\|iram,  you  think  as  other  boys  do,  even 
if  you  do  not  play  ball  and  run  and  jump,  as 
they  do;  now  what  is  your  idea  of  a  hero? 
JVlost  boys  haVe  one,  and  1  Want  to  know  yours." 

Tie  Was  silent  a  few  moments.  pis  hands 
lay  listlessly  holding  the  book,  and  his  eyes  Wan 
dered  over  the  pleasant  Vista  seen  through  the 
Window.  prom  the  distance  came  the  mellowed 
sound  of  men's  Voices  as  they  sang  at  their  Work. 
But  J\iram,  uttery  oblivious  to  his  surroundings, 
Was  evidently  thinking  deeply.  When  he  spoke, 
it  Was  Very  slowly,  and  as  one  who  Weighed  eVery 
Word,  lapsing  more  and  more,  as  he  proceeded, 
into  the  dialect  of  his  people. 


NIRAM  51 

"I  t'ink  dot  a  hero  should  be  braVe  an'  strong 
an'  good,  an'  if  he  eVer  has  any  pain  to  keep 
it  to  hisself,  like  the  boy  JV|iss  IDor'thy  Was  tellin' 
me  'bout  t'other  day.  Tie  Was  a  boy-hero,  j 
t'ink.  <An'  then  he  ought  to  help  people,  pe'ticu- 

la'ly    ole     people,    an'    But,     oh,    doctah, 

why  does  you  ask  me  dis,  fur  I  kin  nebber  do 
anyt'ing,  'cept,  p'raps,  not  tell  grandmam  when 
de  pain  am  Very  bad!  Crf  I  Was  only  strong 
an'  Well,  an'  eVen  ef  I  is  black,  doctah,  I  Would 
try  ter  do,  oh,  so  much  good.  I  Would  do  like 
'(^treat-heart '  did,  an'  de  giant,  who  Was  re 
named  '  (Christopher/  Yah,"  and  his  Voice  Was 
low,  as  he  added,  giving  his  testimony  to  a  new 
hope  recently  born  Within  him,  "|  Would  try  ter 
be  mo'  like  de  JVlassa  (Christ,  fur  he  Was  de 
Very  bes'  hero.  <An'  he  nebber  t' ought  ob  hisself." 


52  NIRAM 

"What  Would  you  say  if  1  Were  to  tell  you 
that  you  could  be  a  hero?" 

"©hj  doctah,"  and  the  lad  fairly  quivered  in 
his  pleasure,  while  his  eyes  sparkled  With  a  new 
light,  as  1  continued : 

"Do  you  remember  JNjanning  Tspppezoon,  and 
hoW  braVe  he  Was?" 

"Yes,  sah.  JVliss  IDor'thy  to!'  me  'bout  him 
t'other  day.  pe  Was  another  hero." 

U(7\nd  do  you  remember  the  story  of  hoW  the 
general — our  general — saved  his  regimental  colors 
during  the  War,  when  he  Was  but  a  mere  boy, 
by  crawling  along  the  ditch  right  under  the  fire 
of  the  enemy?" 

"Yes,   sah,"   Wonderingly. 

"<And  ha\7e  you  forgotten  what  I  told  you  the 
other  day,  that  JVliss  Dorothy  neVer  said  one 


NIRAM  53 

Word  when  the  painful  operation  Was  performed 
upon  her  eyes,  when  she  Was  a  Very  little  girl?" 

"J\jo,  sah,"  and  the  eyes  grew  big  With  the 
light  of  a  daWning  hope,  while  the  lips  became 
tense,  and  the  hands  Were  strained  in  their  grasp, 
each  of  the  otherc 

"<And  do  you  think  of  any  one  you  know, 
who  is  ill  or  deformed,  who  Would  be  Willing 
to  undergo  a  great  deal  of  pain,  if  he  Was  told 
he  Would  be  Well  and  straight  afterward?" 

I  here  Was  no  v'ocal  reply  to  this  question, 
but  the  gleam  in  the  eyes  told  of  a  great  resolve 
being  born  Within  the  ebony  casket — in  the  heart 
where  the  blood  Was  as  rich  and  strong  as  that 
of  one  born  to  the  purple. 

"<And  noW,  listen  carefully;  Would  you  be 
Willing  to  let  me  examine  your  back — it  may  hurt 


54  NIRAM 

you  a  little,  or  perhaps  a  Very,  Very  great  deal — 
and  see  if  1  think  anything  could  be  done  for  you  ? 
YOU  know  that  1  Will  be  as  careful  as  possible," 

"When,    doctah?" 

"<And  you  Will  not  say  one  Word  to  [srima 
or  SeXtus  about  it  until  1  give  you  permission?" 

"J\lo,   sah." 

"Then  I  think  1  Will  make  the  examination 
at  once.' 

"I  t'ink,  JVlassa  Hoctah,"  and  the  Words  came 
Very  slowly  and  softly,  "dat  I  Kin  bar  anyt'ing  now!  " 

<As  1  turned  toward  the  bed  to  arrange  it, 
like  a  clarion  cry,  strong  and  clear  and  ringing, 
came  the  couplet: 

"It  mus'    be   now  de  ^Kingdom's    comin' — 
<An'    de  yar  ob   ^lubilo!" 


NIRAM  55 

I  hen  there  followed  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  hum  of  the  song  of  the  far-distant  Workers. 

|  he  difficulty,  [  soon  learned,  Was  caused  by 
muscular  contraction,  and  could  be  easily,  though 
painfully,  remedied.  1  \eporting  this  fact  to  J\|iram, 
his  reply  Was  characteristic : 

"<|Jus'  as  you  say,  JV|assa  Doctah.  I'se 
Willin'.  |'se  gWine  ter  be  bra\?e,  even  ef  de  misery 
do  come.  <An'  ef  de  good  JV|assa  Wants  ter  heV 
me  now,  I'se  ready  ter  go.  <An'  ef  I  gets 
Well-  -" 

(Quietly  the  preparations  progressed  for  the 
operation,  and  one  or  two  physicians  from  the 
nearest  city  Were  invited  to  assist  me.  [srima 
and  e)e)?tus  Were  still  kept  in  ignorance  of  our 
plan,  in  accord  With  the  decision  reached  by 
the  general.  J\iram  Was  quietly  happy,  while 


5  6  NIRAM 

a  new  gleam  lurked  in  his  eyes,  and  his  joy 
Would  often  burst  from  his  lips  in  the  melodies 
of  his  people. 

When  the  eventful  morning  arrived,  after  the 
"Eloise"  had  steamed  aWay  for  my  confreres,  I 
told  pYima  that  J\liram  Would  spend  the  day 
With  me,  and  then,  sauntering  out,  1  neared  the 
cabin. 

floating  through  the  magnolias  came  the  Word 
less  melody  of  a  Wild,  old  African  chant,  brought 
from  her  birthland  by  [?rima  and  taught  to 
J\|iram.  The  minor  tones  held  a  strange, 
insinuating  sadness,  like  the  loW-Voiced  moaning 
of  the  Women  as  their  Warriors — fathers,  husbands, 
brothers,  sons,  lowers — assembled  for  the  last  time 
.before  going  to  battle.  Almost  imperceptibly  the 
sound  grew  stronger,  and  its  tenor  changed,  while 


NIRAM  57 

the  regular  tramp  of  the  men,  the  discords  of 
the  tam-tams,  and  the  screech  of  the  white  owl — 
their  bird  of  good  omen — could  be  detected  as 
they  passed  on  into  the  distance  and  out  of  sight. 
<A  confused  dissonance,  sullen,  threatening,  and 
aWe-inspiring,  suggested  the  echo  of  the  far-off 
battle  din.  «Abo\?e  this  Was  heard  one  solitary 
note  of  triumph,  followed  by  a  Weird  prean,  which 
rang  forth  clear,  sharp,  shrill,  and  almost  demoni 
acal  in  its  fierce,  intense,  but  Wordless,  expression 
of  joy.  |  hrough  the  return  march,  inseparably 
interWoVen  With  the  stranqe,  exultant  chorus,  rose 

Qj       ' 

the  mourners'  Wail  for  those  left  lying  in  their 
last  sleep  on  the  field  of  carnage.  <As  they 
neared  the  Village  the  Women  caught  up  the  strain, 
mingling  their  moaning  With  the  funeral  chords, 
and  thus  making  a  sombre  accompaniment,  at 


58  NIRAM 

great  Variance  With  the  strong,  strange,  jubilant 
tones  as  the  tribe  chorused  its  Valor.  With  the 
fortissimo  shout  of  Victory  the  Voice  abruptly  ceased, 
and  the  scene  created  by  the  mystic  power  of  the 
barbaric  cantata,  suddenly  dissolved,  and  sWeet 
and  low  and  Witchingly  harmonious,  came  the 
distant  song  of  the  simply  decked  queen  of  the 
Southern  night. 

J\iram  Was  tenderly  borne  to  my  room,  and 
his  eyes  Were  Very  happy,  while  his  face  Was 
strangely  passive.  <A  moment  or  so  later,  while 
We  Were  yet  alone,  and  |  Was  busy  With  my 
case,  like  a  half  whisper,  |  heard  him  say: 

"ll)ear  JVlassa  <Desus,  you  knoWs  who  I  is, 
an'  what  a  Wuthless  little  boy  |  is,  an'  how 
much  I  Wants  ter  do  suthin'.  JVlassa  H)octah 
says  he  kin  cure  me.  (Dear  JMassa  Jesus, 


NIRAM  59 

please  let  him  do  dat  t'ing  so  ez  |  kin  do  suthin' 
fur  you.  <An'  dear  JV|cissa  <J>Jesus,  please  help 
J\|iram  ter  be  braVe.  |  Wants  so  much  ter  be 
strong  an'  Well.  IDat's  all.  « 


<At  last,  the  operation  over, — and  it  Was  longer 
than  We  had  anticipated,  and  much  more  painful, 
but  neVer  a  Word,  groan,  or  murmur  Was  allowed 
to  escape  from  the  firmly  set  lips, — J \iram  Was 
placed  in  a  plaster  cast,  in  which  he  Was  to 
remain  between  two  and  three  months,  under  the 
Watchful  care  of  my  colleague,  ||)r.  TsJ 


I  Wo  months  later  |  boarded  the  staunch  old 
"@ate  Kity"  and  sailed  for  the  Island. 

1  hin,  and  Very  Weak,  but  straight,  perfectly 
straight,  J\|iram  when  released  Was  able  to  take 


60  NIRAM 

a  step  OP  so  alone,  and  then  slipping  back  into 
his  chair  he  sang  clearly,  softly,  Worshipful  ly, 
yleber's  beautiful  hymn : 

"j~loly,    holy,    holy,  Lor'    0od   Almighty! 

Early  in  de  maWnin*  my  song  shall  rise  ter  thee ; 
poly,    holy,    holy,    mercifu'    an'    mighty! 

God   in  three  persons,    blessed  Trinity!" 


, 


A  Hero 


A  lad  of  metal,  a  good  boy." 

Shakespeare. 


m 


Was    the    gladdest,    blithest    time 
of  the  year  when  ne^t  1  tarried 
.     for    a     rest    on    the    Island. 
Probably   time    had    Wrought 
many    changes    but     they 
J     had    only   served     to     en- 
/     '     ha  nee    the    beauty    of    the 
place,  and  all  Was  like  a  d& 
lightful,    enchanted    land.         1  he 
!-*'  magnolias     Were     in     rich,     luxurious 

bloom;  the  air  Was  heaVy  With  the  fragrance  of 
the  orange  blossoms,  and  each  day  invited  one 
to  reVel  in  the  "dolce  far  niente"  of  the  tropics. 

The  circle  in  the  manor  had  changed,  growing 

63 


64  NIRAM 

ever  more  attractive  and  complete,  while  Jyliss 
liJorothy  now  responded  to  a  sweetly  lisped 
" mamma"  from  a  petite,  happy  maiden  whom 
We  called  (yladys.  1  he  general  Was  as  argu 
mentative  as  eVer,  believed  as  firmly  in  the  future 
of  the  Republican  party,  still  religiously  read  the 
J\|eW  York  "  1  ribune,"  and  stooped  a  trifle  more, 
which  made  me  feel  that  We  Were  both  able  to 
review  many  more  summers  than  in  our  hearts, 
boyish  yet  in  many  Ways,  We  cared  to  acknowl 
edge,  pis  keen,  blue  eyes  twinkled  as  of  yore, 
and  the  fierce  mustachios  could  not  quite  hide  the 
full,  merry  lips,  almost  Womanish  in  their  delicate, 
high-bred  outlines. 

[srima    and    e)e^tus,   With    the    dignity    befitting 
their    advanced    aqe.    dictated    to    their    little    court 

<D    ' 

from     the     Veranda-throne.          @)e>?tus'     time     Was 


NIRAM  65 

about  evenly  divided  between  a  loVe  of  everting 
authority,  and  the  laborious  spelling  out  of  the 
Words  of  his  1  estament.  jsrima  Was  an  e)?cel- 
lent  example  of  what  Wives  should  be  in  submit 
ting  to  their  husbands'  authority,  and  never  pre 
sumed  to  differ  from  the  expressed  sentiments  of 
her  other  half  except  in  the  culinary  realm,  and 
there  she  brooked  neither  suggestion  nor  rival. 

eNiram,  older  grown,  Was  now,  as  eVer,  the 
joy  and  pride  of  these  old  people,  who  conversed ' 
eloquently  and  untiringly  of  him.  [n  their  eyes 
his  observations  Were  doubly  refined  Wisdom,  his 
Wishes  laWs.  Tie  held  the  position  once  occu 
pied  by  his  father,  and  filled  it  most  satisfactorily. 
JV|oreoVer,  he  Was  a  natural  leader,  although  in  no 
Wise  a  dictator,  and  possessed  a  peculiar,  beneficial 
influence  oVer  his  people,  but  retained  Withal,  a 


66  NIRAM 

remarkably  pure  and  guileless  (Christian  character; 
sWeet,  yet  strong;  noble,  yet  humble;  Willing  to 
be  less  than  the  least,  but  unswerving  in  his  prin 
ciples,  and  firm  in  his  advocacy  of  the  truth. 

In  the  softness  of  the  fading  light  as  We  Were 
enjoying  the  Veranda,  the  Words  floated  toward 
us,  and  although  years  had  elapsed  I  recognized 
the  Voice  of  J\iram,  as  he  sang  one  of  his  boyish 
favorites : 

"I'se'd   happy,    happy,    niggah   boy! 
1    plays  all   de  day; 
I   sleeps  all   de   night 
<An'   Wakes  up  Wid   de   maWnin'    light." 

I  he    dusk     hid     him     from     my    sight    and     a 
moment  later  the  singing   died  aWay  into  silence. 


NIRAM  67 

Lfittle     (^ladys,     the     daintiest,,    quaintest     of 

maidens    Was    an     object     of    deep    and    solicitous 

interest  during  her  daily  trip  to  "<f)hut-eye    |  oWn." 

1  he    fairies   of   that    realm    Were    eVer   anxious    to 

lure  he^  to  their  homes  and 

. 

iflB  IP  '»*H^f  e    nurse    must 

,.*mr  eVer   be    on    the 

alert  to  inter 
cept  their  fasci 
nations  and  restrain  them 
from  leading  her  into  danger.  portunately  her 
strange  guides  had  neVer  so  led  her  as  yet,  con 
fining  their  Wiles  to  the  afternoon  nap,  doubtless 
because  they  too  rested  at  night;  but  the 
constant  Vigilance  Was  neVer  related. 

1  he    nursery  Was    a    comparatively   neW  addi 
tion    to    the    house    and    extended    on    to  the  edqe 


68  NIRAM 

of  the  Veranda  roof,  around  which  ran  a  slight, 
ornamental  cornice.  ©Ver  this,  adding  much  to 
the  picturescjueness  of  the  home,  clustered  the 
graceful  clematis  and  Wistaria.  |  his  slight  pro 
jection  Was  a  favorite  resting-place  for  the  doVes, 
and  many  bright-tinted  humming  birds  made  their 
nests  amonq  the  Vines.  I  he  qeneral  had  once 

o)  of 

or  twice  remarked  that  the  cornice  needed  strength 
ening,  owing  to  the  gradually  increasing  Weight 
of  the  Vines,  but  nothing  had  as  yet  been  done 
toward  that  end. 

One  afternoon,  a  feW  days  later,  as  he  and 
I  Were  Watching  a  sharply  contested  game  of 
tennis,  my  attention  Was  attracted  toward  the 
house,  and  |  saw  a  small,  white-robed  figure 
emerqinq  from  the  Window,  and  stand  erect  on 

a)       <?J 

the    cornice.          1  he    curls    sWayed    gently    in    the 


NIRAM  69 

breeze,  and  the  small  hands  hung  easily  at  her 
sides,  as  she  took  one  step  and  then  another  and 
another. 

|t  all  took  place  so  quickly  that  |  hardly  knew 
what  to  do.  J\|o  one  appeared  to  notice  the 
little  maid  but  myself.  When  aWake,  (yladys 
Was  rather  timid,  and  to  see  her  Walking  on  the 
frail  cornice,  at  such  a  dizzy  height,  sent  a  thrill 
through  me,  for  |  knew  not  what  moment  she 
might  aWaken,  and  |  dared  not  think  of  the 
possible  consequences.  Where  could  (£hloe  be? 

But  e\?en  as  |  questioned  Within  myself,  a 
light,  active,  figure  bounded  across  the  laWn  and 
entered  the  house.  <A  moment  later  J\iram's 
head  appeared  at  the  Window,  but  as  he  meas 
ured  the  height  With  his  eyes,  he  drew  back. 
1  he  small  figure  mo\?ed  on  step  by  step.  I  hrough 


70  NIRAM 

eNiram's  brain  rushed  the  thought  of  the  Weak 
ness  of  the  cornice  on  which  the  child  Was 
Walking.  |t  bore  her  Weight  safely,  Would  it 
bear  his?  J\|eVer  mind,  he  must  get  JViiss 
(yladys  ere  she  Wakened,  for  she  Would  surely 
be  frightened  and  fall  and—  <And  yet,  if 

he  did  Venture  out,  might  not — Would  he  not  fall? 
t  and  thus  tWo  lives  Would  be  sacrificed.  <A  fall 
from  there  to  the  ground  Would  mean  either 
deformity  for  life — and  he  knew  Well,  oh,  so  Well, 
what  helplessness  Was — or  death.  (£ould  he 
Venture?  Did  he  consider  his  life  as  Worth 
more  than  that  of  the  child — he,  a  poor,  black 
man?  «And  the  general  had  done  so  much  for 
him.  Yes,  he  Would,  must,  go,  and  suiting  the 
action  to  the  Word,  he  drew  himself  slowly  out 
of  the  Window,  but  his  courage  failed  him,  and 


NIRAM  71 

he    crouched    back,    quivering    With    fear.          \  hen 
he    saw    (^ladys.        @)he    had    nearly    reached    the 


corner    where    the    cornice    ended,    and    forgetting 
his    oWn    imminent    danger  and    the    risk    he    Was 


72  NIRAM 

hazarding,  he  began  to  hum  a  dreamy,  crooning, 
rhythmic,  Wordless  lullaby — one  of  (Gladys'  particu 
lar  favorites.  1  he  sound  penetrated  to  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  child,  and  she  paused.  With 
a  feW  quick,  noiseless  steps  JNjiram  Was  near 
her,  still  softly  singing.  (yladys  turned,  and 
extending  her  arms  as  she  always  did  when 
Wishing  to  be  taken  up,  opened  her  eyes,  into 
which  fright  leaped  With  rapid  strides.  J\|iram 
caught  her  ere  she  realized  where  she  Was,  and 
seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  cornice  as  he  bore 
her  to  the  Window  where  (Shloe  stood. 

If,  as  the  poet  sings,  '"  |  ime  is  counted  by 
heart-throbs,"  We  who  Watched  the  courageous 
deed,  and  the  return  of  the  lithe  figure  with  its 
precious  burden  along  the  giddy  height  of  the 
roof,  lived  cycles  in  those  few  moments. 


NIRAM  73 

<As  Gladys  Was  handed  to  her  nurse  a  loud 
cry  of  delight,  relief,  and  joy  burst  from  us  all. 
But  it  Was  quickly  changed  to  one  of  horror,  for 
eVen  as  JMiram  released  his  hold  on  the  child, 
the  cornice  could  no  longer  bear  the  strain,  and 
breaking,  precipitated  him  backward! 

•Almost  simultaneously  We  all  rushed  forward, 
fearing  the  Worst.  fortunately,  nay,  providen 
tially,  a  large  magnolia  tree — the  pride  of  the 
general's  heart — caught  him  and  thus  broke  his 
fall,  and  saVed  him  from  almost  certain  death. 
JVlany  eager,  Willing  hands  quickly  extricated  him, 
and  eVery  Voice  hailed  him  as  a  hero. 

por  a  few  seconds  he  stood  erect  and  silent, 
hardly  seeming  to  understand  and  personally  apply 
the  high  encomiums  bestowed  upon  his  daring,  self- 
forgetful  deed,  for  We  all  realized  something  of  the 


74  NIRAM 

danger  attending  such  an  act.  |  Watched  him 
narrowly.  Would  his  innate  modesty  allow  him  to 
disclaim  the  praise  so  lavishly  and  justly  tendered? 

<And  then  he  spoke,  slowly,  and  With  the 
inseparable  drawl  of  the  genuine  Southern  J\egro, 
lapsing  into  the  familiar  speech  of  his  childhood: 

"eNo,  I'se  not  a  hero.  l$)on'  call  me  one. 
I'se  but  a  po'  black  man.  What  I'se  done  is 
nuthin'.  I  Was  'most  scared  white  when  1  done 
got  ter  de  Window.  <An'  a  hero's  nebber  scared! 
J\|o,  I  isn't  one!  " 

But  the  strain  had  been  too  much,  the  re 
action  came,  and  an  instant  after  the  last  Word 
Was  uttered  J\liram  lay  unconscious  at  the  feet 
of  his  -  benefactor,  the  general.  'As  he  Was 
tenderly  raised,  the  dark  eyes  opened  slowly,  and 
the  lips  parted  to  say: 


NIRAM  75 

aj\|o,    |'se    not    a    hero.         |'se   jus'    J\|iram. 
lat's  all." 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N9  530984 

PS2419 

Mitchell,   Lo  ^23 

Niram.  N5 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


